Goodmans of Glassford Street (23 page)

‘She isn’t Julie, Mum. No one could replace her. She was so conscientious and never complained about the long hours she often had to work. But this girl will be fine, I’m sure. Once she gets a bit more experience.’

It was definitely getting dark. Abi thought it was time she returned to John’s flat. To get there from where she now found herself meant going through a couple of narrow closes and wynds. Suddenly she felt nervous. She had been wandering about for too long and not paying attention to where she was going or the amount of time that was passing. In one of the wynds, she was startled by a group of hunkered figures furtively drinking in the shadows. She quickened her pace. Then, getting out of breath, she stood at the top of the steps, the wind funnelling through the arch behind her. She heard slow steps and – frighteningly – rasping, heavy breathing. She tensed nervously; what to do – fight or flight? Before she could rationalise further, a bunneted shape materialised.

‘Jeez, hen, these steps fair bring on yer asthma.’

She laughed with relief. The man had a Glasgow accent. He was probably, like her, in Edinburgh for the day and having a look around Edinburgh’s historic streets and wynds.

‘Aye,’ she answered in an equally Glaswegian accent. ‘Ye’re right there.’

What a foolish woman she was, she thought, as she walked on. After all John’s concern, here she was doing exactly what he had warned her not to do. Wandering about in the dark.

Even knowing about Julie’s murder and the other murders in this very area, here she was, having allowed her mind as well as her feet to wander dangerously. It wasn’t even as it if was a story. The murders were real. They had really happened.

She began to run and by the time she reached John’s close and hastily climbed his stairs, she was gasping for breath and sweat was dripping over her eyes. She fumbled desperately to put her key in the lock. At last, thankfully, she was inside. She leaned her back against the door with relief.

It took her quite a few minutes to get her breath back, before she was able to go into the kitchen. There, instead of making a cup of tea, she poured herself a stiff whisky. It brought soothing warmth and comfort. It calmed her down. She didn’t feel any happier, however. It worried her so much how she had changed. She had always been a calm, courageous woman. Everyone said so. She certainly never used to be a worrier.

She switched on the light in the small sitting room and collapsed into a chair. She ought to have returned to Glasgow and faced the house move. Now she worried about Mr Webster’s supervision of all her belongings. Her
CSI: Miami
DVDs for instance. She was very fond of them. They were like old friends. Horatio was definitely a much-loved old friend.

She rummaged in her handbag. Earlier in the day she had come across a healthfood and vitamin store and had bought a herbal sedative. She went through to the kitchen and swallowed a couple of the tablets down with a glass of water.

She already had sleeping tablets from the doctor but she had left them in the bathroom cabinet in Huntershill. Had Mr Webster remembered to pack the medical cabinet and its contents? She closed her eyes and took another tablet.

It wasn’t always the shoplifters coming into the shop that Miss Eden had to keep her eye on. It could be workmen doing a job. It could be staff. Staff were most difficult to stop. Fortunately, it was only on a few occasions that a member of staff let the side down. She had in fact to depend on staff tipping her off if they had suspicions about somebody. Once told of a suspicion, however, it was up to her to observe the person. She couldn’t take her eyes off them for a second. If she saw someone stealing, however, she couldn’t stop them until they were outside the store. The problem was that the thief could go to another department where there was a changing room and get rid of the goods. So she had to stick with them. If she wasn’t a hundred per cent sure, she couldn’t stop anyone. Ninety per cent was not good enough.

Then there was the needle thing. She had to be careful of that all the time inside the shop. They were carried by people who had a drug problem and had to steal to raise more money to feed their habit. Usually staff members didn’t fight or threaten her, but pleaded for her to turn a blind eye.

‘Please, oh please, Miss Eden, don’t report me and make me lose my job.’

‘You’ve committed a crime,’ she’d tell them. ‘It’s up to you to bear the consequences. I’m only doing my job.’

There were times with other people when she really could not understand why they did it. She had read about film stars pinching things in the shops on the famous Rodeo Drive. It used to be said about women, when they got to the menopause, their hormones were all mixed up and they went off their heads. It was believed that it was an attention-seeking thing. Miss Eden could honestly say she had never come across that.

Apart from the desperate need some people had to feed a drug habit, the motivation was usually just greed. The thieves she had known over the years made more money than she did and she worked hard every day. They could come in and lift something in one day worth more than she earned each month. She knew them, all right, and they knew her. The men would come into the store, see her, and say with good humour, ‘Well, I’m wasting my time here.’

In fact, strange though it seemed, once they got to know her in court, she became their bosom buddy and they treated her with respect. Women were not really so good-tempered. The old, down-and-out, homeless women were glad to be nicked and given a bed for the night in the police cells. They were pathetically grateful. It was the other women, some well off, who could be difficult, often nasty, and even dangerous.

Then there were young children of both sexes. They reminded her of Oliver Twist and the Artful Dodger in the novel by Charles Dickens. The sad thing and the problem was that their parents didn’t care about them and they would grow up knowing nothing else, no other way of life. They would form into gangs and end up as gangsters. They would spend much of their lives in prison. Whereas, if they had been taken into decent homes and given a chance …

She had to be careful that the children didn’t get into the lift and end up in the staff area. There, despite repeated warnings and reminders, one member of staff or another would leave their key in their locker. As a result, they would find by evening that their purses and wallets had disappeared.

There was a warning system in Glassford Street and Argyle Street. If a known shoplifter was seen in Marks & Spencer’s, for instance, and they didn’t manage to get anything there, the security guard or detective would watch them going along the road. If they saw them going into Goodmans, they would phone and warn her.

This continuous alertness could be very exhausting, even before the arrest of any culprit. Miss Eden was glad to get home and relax. With Mr McKay to watch as well, it had been an extra strain. He had been her lodger for quite a time and, apart from a few setbacks at first, he was really fine now. On one occasion in the early days, he’d tried to sneak a bottle of Buckfast into her house. She’d found it and, before his eyes, she’d poured it down the kitchen sink.

‘We’ll be civilised, Mr McKay. We’ll have a glass of wine with our evening meal. All right?’

He had looked embarrassed and ashamed. ‘Yes, of course, Miss Eden.’

After that, they had enjoyed the evening glass of wine. She bought small bottles, just enough for one glass each. They even had interesting discussions about what wine to purchase, sometimes red, sometimes white. Sometimes Italian, sometimes Australian. A Merlot was one of their favourites.

They’d got into the habit of going to the karate club two or three times a week, and she suspected that Mr McKay actually enjoyed these visits. She remembered the first occasion. She had pushed through the swing doors into the community centre.

‘How’re you today, Archie?’ she’d ask the familiar figure sitting behind the counter.

‘No’ bad, hen. No’ bad. Ye’re late the day; ye’re aye first here.’

Archie, the facilities officer, or in old-speak the janitor, had his hands clasped over his little round belly, cheery face, a mesh of broken veins across his nose. Only his grey brush-cut hair spoiled the likeness to a rather debauched Santa.

‘Yes, but I’ve a friend with me today. He’s only going to watch. This is Mr McKay. Mr McKay, I’m going to get into my gi. If you go through to the left, there’s a wee café where you can get a cup of tea or whatever.’

As she strode confidently into the Ladies, he entered the café.

On the right-hand wall were several large, narrow windows that allowed a view of the sports hall. Mr McKay told Miss Eden later that he had drawn up a stool and leant forward to get a better view. He was interested to see that there was a children’s class just finishing, with rows of mini white-pyjamaed figures stamping up and down with intense expressions. He was impressed, he said, by the effort and commitment of the youngsters. In spite of himself, he admitted he felt a growing curiosity to see what the senior class might accomplish.

As time went on, Miss Eden toyed with the idea of suggesting to Mr McKay that he should join the beginners’ class. It could be something else for him to concentrate on. It would also increase his self-confidence and his self-worth.

It had to be said, though, that he was more or less back to normal. She had begun to wonder if he had settled in too happily to life as her lodger. After a few months, she had encouraged him to pay his own home a visit – just to see how he’d feel. She’d gone with him, even followed him as he wandered about each room. He had looked somewhat distressed the first time, and was obviously glad to get back to her place in Springburn. The next time, he had looked sad but altogether calmer. He insisted, however, that he still did not feel ready to return to the house and live there.

He had begun to talk about his wife too, first about her distressing illness and eventually about their happier times. He told Miss Eden what a brave, positive, happy character his wife had. Miss Eden had encouraged him to be the same, reminding him that his wife would want him to be strong and positive and happy. More recently he had stopped talking about his wife, except perhaps to make the occasional fond but perfectly calm remark about some trivial thing like, ‘Jenny used to really enjoy that brand of chocolate.’

Sometimes he even laughed at some eccentric taste she had had. But mostly he was just getting on with his life now. In the evening, over their meal, they usually discussed the day’s events at the store.

They had shaken heads and tutted at the scandal concerning Mr Webster and voiced sympathy for his wife. They shared surprise at Mrs Goodman’s uncharacteristic attitude to the event and the adverse publicity it caused. Nowadays, in fact, Mrs Goodman seemed to be quite friendly with Mr Webster. Douglas Benson didn’t like the situation at all and was very suspicious about it. This was proved by the sly questions he had aimed at Mr McKay. Mr McKay had been no help to him about what Mrs Goodman was up to – not because he was purposely being unhelpful – he just didn’t know the answer. Mrs Goodman hadn’t been herself for a while. She had taken quite a lot of time off and it was certainly unusual for her to have a personal friendship with a member of staff. But as far as Mr McKay could see, she was now quite attentive and efficient when she was in the store.

‘I heard that Mr Webster is now living in the High Street,’ Miss Eden said.

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Mr McKay agreed. ‘He reported his change of address for the records. Terrible business that, losing his lovely home in Bearsden.’

‘And everything he owned. Except his car.’

‘He’ll know a difference in a flat. There’s not a garden for a start, and there’ll be less room.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Miss Eden said. ‘Those old flats can be pretty roomy. Bigger rooms than in modern houses, and with high ceilings and lovely cornicing.’

‘True enough.’

‘I don’t know how Mrs Goodman managed in that huge isolated place in Huntershill. Have you seen it, Mr McKay?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘I once visited a friend who lived at the end of that road and she called for me in her car and drove me home afterwards. We passed it twice – once in the dark.’ She shuddered. ‘I just caught a glimpse of it through the trees. It looked quite ghastly.’

‘Oh dear. At least my house wasn’t as bad as that.’

She noticed his use of the past tense.

‘And of course,’ Mr McKay said, ‘a garden is a lot of work. By the way, I phoned about a gardener. He came to the store this morning and we arranged about payment and so on. I just want the grass cut and the place kept tidy. He’s got a van, apparently, and can take his own equipment. Though, as I told him, there’s a shed at the back where I kept my lawnmower and garden tools.’

The past tense again.

In one way, she wanted to ask him when he was thinking of returning to live in Bishopbriggs. In another way, although she had always been quite happy living on her own, it was quite enjoyable having company.

As well as that, of course, she didn’t want to hurry him before he was fit and ready to face life on his own. He had done so well up until now. She didn’t want to risk undoing all her (and his) good work.

They had got into such a pleasant routine. Every evening, she put the kettle on. He began setting the table. She got the food started – usually something from Marks & Spencer’s that she could pop into the microwave. She bought the pudding from M & S as well. They both enjoyed the food from there, and of course the shop was so handy. It was easy to walk the short distance down Glassford Street to the side entrance of M & S.

While Mr McKay cleared the dirty dishes from the table, she made the tea or coffee – whatever they’d decided to have. After their tea or coffee, she washed the dishes and Mr McKay dried them and put them away in the cupboard.

Then, if they weren’t going out to the karate club, they would have a chat again about the day’s events. They’d watch the television for a time. Eventually, when it was nearly time to retire to their separate rooms, she made a warm, milky drink for them both and they chose a biscuit each from the biscuit tin.